


Gula

by ColorfulStabwound



Series: Draco Malfoy Presents the Seven Deadly Sins [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bathroom Sex, Blow Jobs, Draco Malfoy Presents the Seven Deadly Sins, Established Relationship, Free Pass Fuck, Gluttony, Gula, M/M, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Semi-Public Sex, Seven Deadly Sins, Voyeurism, sin - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-11
Updated: 2015-09-11
Packaged: 2018-04-20 07:05:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4778033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ColorfulStabwound/pseuds/ColorfulStabwound
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I don't generally write with such religious undertones. I blame MSI. Which probably, one person will get but that's okay! :D</p>
<p>Anways, the long awaited (by no one) next installment of the Sin series for Draco, or Mr. Malfoy, as James says. </p>
<p>As always, endless love and adoration for my lovely friend and muse in all literary things, Unkissed.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Gula

**Author's Note:**

> I don't generally write with such religious undertones. I blame MSI. Which probably, one person will get but that's okay! :D
> 
> Anways, the long awaited (by no one) next installment of the Sin series for Draco, or Mr. Malfoy, as James says. 
> 
> As always, endless love and adoration for my lovely friend and muse in all literary things, Unkissed.

****

_**Sweat.**  _

_It is all that you taste when you gulp down air like an insatiable monster hell bent on taking everything for yourself._

_**Pain.**  _

_It is the only sensation you wish to impart with every scratch of blunt nail, every twist of hair around your fingertips._

_**Blood.**_

_Is what stains your lips and soils what remains of your soul, and yet you strive for more, still._

 

It is your complete and utter lack of moral standing that finds you where you are right now, body propped up against a wall that is far more soiled than you ever could be. Your head is pounding with each graceful flutter of lashes against the supple skin that stretches taut beneath your eyes and the audible sounds of wetness hang in the air all around you, cinching you tighter like an invisible corset against your ribs. You think that you should know better than this, that you should have stopped this before it began, but you write all of that off because you’ve never been very good at self-control or notions of right and wrong.

 

This had all started simply enough, really, and you think that you might laugh later about the sheer ridiculousness of it all. You feel as if you’ve seen this boy grow up before your eyes and as you stare down at him kneeled before you like a schoolboy paying proper worship, you vaguely wonder if there is a _special_ hell reserved for people like you.  You are not a stranger to sex with inappropriate partners and that knowledge doesn’t offend you nearly as much as it should because right now you simply _cannot_ get enough.

 

You have been showing up at these hometown gigs for so many years that it seems like second nature to do so still, even though your son is no longer in need of a chaperone. The first time you caught his eyes on you was in a dimly lit pub somewhere in Surrey; you think. Theodore had leaned particularly close and nudged his chin in the boy’s direction, amused that he was so blatantly as he put it, _checking you out._ Of course there were never any boundaries, secrets, or lies between you and this particularly brief moment in your life spurred a conversation regarding free passes in relationships. You told him he was being ridiculous—Not because you didn’t think this boy was worthy of a _free pass_ so much as you didn’t particularly enjoy the idea of Theodore finding need to utilize such a thing.

 

After that night in Surrey, when Albus Potter’s band was still just a local favorite, you began to notice him. His gaze was impossible to escape, even in the smoky darkness of seedy pubs across London. Although no words were ever spoken, you knew that he was there for the music just about as much as you yourself were. He is leaning against the bar across the room, all eyes on the stage except his. Theodore chuckles darkly beside you and you stiffen for the briefest moment before allowing an amused smirk to quirk the corner of your mouth. “I wonder if he can back up that cocksure behavior.” Theodore’s voice is a smooth, dulcet tone in your ear and it makes tiny patches of gooseflesh crop up across your skin. You swallow thickly and say nothing, which makes him chuckle in your ear again. You know Theodore well enough to know what he’s doing, and even that predetermined knowledge will not stop what happens next.

 

“Go on, show him a _real_ cocksure attitude.” Theodore’s fingers curl around your forearm as he speaks quietly in your ear, his eyes still fixed on the boy across the pub. “Unless you’re scared,” He adds with a twisted little smile, and then he runs the very tip of his tongue along the shell of your ear just slow enough that it is maddening.

 

You cannot find it in yourself to deny the fact that you are itching to wipe that smug grin off of the boy’s face. He’s been eye-fucking you for months and although you rarely actually ever speak to one another, when you do he addresses you as _Mr. Malfoy_ in a way that is far too practiced to be innocuous.

 

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” You say instead, turning your head to arch a brow at Theodore beside you. “I bet you’d just love to lurk around in the shadows somewhere and watch me fuck him too.” Of course, this is hardly the venue for such a conversation but honestly, when have you and Theodore _ever_ acted appropriately?

 

Theodore’s lips twitch with a grin and he bites the corner of his mouth and shrugs a shoulder. You know him so fucking well that you can only shake your head and laugh lightly through closed lips. “Pervert.” You whisper, and you do not miss the way his muscles twitch imperceptibly beneath his clothing. What you don’t know is that Theodore has been waiting for a moment like this to fall into his lap for a long time. Sometimes, when he is lying in bed at night he will close his eyes and think back to that glorious night the two of you spent with your very own second cousin. Theodore finds fascination and desire in the idea of watching you fuck other men. It makes him feel drunk and greedy because he knows that no matter how far you go, you will _always_ belong to him. So when Theodore pushes you in the direction of the bar it is really just his way of extending your leash and he shivers with anticipation because he has never felt so powerful.

 

You find yourself weaving your way through the crowd towards the bar, the gaze still upon you like a beacon of forbidden promises, pulling you in. There is a faint voice in the back of your head somewhere telling you to turn around and return to Theodore but you ignore it because you are not about to admit defeat.

 

Theodore, for his part, thinks you are completely bluffing. He watches you as you inch farther and farther away from him, advancing on the bar like a disciplined predator. He is torn between watching you and watching your prey. He recognizes the slight shift in the boys’ posture because he has been caught in your crosshairs more times than he can count and he knows exactly what it feels like. His pulse quickens as he watches you step up to the bar and his throat itches as you lean over to be heard by the bartend. When you turn away from the bar you regard your prey and Theodore holds his breath and is instantly hard right there, in the middle of a crowded pub supporting his son’s boyfriends’ band.

 

“Something I can help you with, Mr. Malfoy?” He says as he turns his head just enough to give you the once-over. His mouth is unnaturally ruddy and quirked up at its corners with a smugness that you can appreciate and when you smirk, he mirrors you flawlessly.

 

“Perhaps I could ask you the same, Mr. Potter.” You say as your gaze slides off of him towards the band that is in full swing on stage.

 

He snorts and turns in towards you, eyes fixed so firmly on yours that you imagine it stings. His chest brushes briefly against your arm as he deposits an empty glass on the bar behind you and when he lingers more than could be taken for arbitrary, you quirk a brow and wait. “Mr. Potter is my father, and unless you fancy shagging my dad, then it’s _just James._ ”  When he rights, his expression is so complacent that you wonder how this kid could possibly be a Potter. 

 

You want to clarify that given the choice, you would suffer off-the-rack for an entire fortnight rather than shag Harry Potter but you think that it goes without saying considering the situation, and so you merely quirk a brow instead.  

 

It is this moment right here that has James disappearing into the men’s loo a short while later while flashing you a devilish grin over his shoulder. You stare after him for only a moment and you wonder if perhaps this was going to be something you regretted after the fact. You are at an event with you _son_ and you are following James fucking Potter into a bathroom, this isn’t regret this is diving into a sea of terrible decisions without a life vest.

 

And you love every second of it.

 

You barely have time to cast a self-locking charm on the door before James’ fingers curl into the front of your Burberry jacket and make you inwardly cringe. Clearly this kid has no respect for designer labels or fashion icons and so you close your hands around his fists and carefully pry them loose. “Mind the garments,” You say with a practiced patience that comes with parenthood and when he rolls his eyes and snorts, you merely blink. Twice.

 

“We’re in a public loo, fuck your _garments.”_ He speaks with a flippant demeanor that you are positively itching to wipe off of him. It takes you only seconds to realize that James is cocky and impatient, but there is something else there too—A subtle innocence that you are far too eager to destroy. It is in the way he kisses you, all wetness and teeth, and the way he grinds himself against you like he’s already aching for the friction. You want to laugh at the absurdity of the moment but you grab him by the hair and tug his head back sharply instead. “You talk too much.” You say against the taut line of his exposed throat, and when he chuckles dryly and squirms against your teasing touch, you throw away any remaining pretense that you could simply walk away from this right out the proverbial window.

 

You nip firmly at his jugular notch before releasing your hold over him and this time when he presses up against you, he does so without twisting the expensive fabric of your coat in his fists. You aren’t sure if James is playing you or merely playing along but when he kisses you, you think that you don’t care which is the truth and which is the fabrication.

 

It doesn’t take very long at all before his hands are squirming impatiently beneath your jacket and toying with the pearlescent buttons of your dress shirt. You know that you don’t really have the time for a leisurely pace but there is something about him that makes you want to forget all that and focus on him instead. His actions are fierce and fueled by a need that he doesn’t hide nearly as well as he thinks he does, and it is the brief flash of something undecipherable in his gaze that sobers you just for a minute.

 

“We probably shouldn’t,” You start to say but even before the words leave your mouth you know that you don’t mean them and you reach for him. 

 

Your fingers curl around the nape of his neck and pull him close enough to kiss. This time it is you who takes the control and when you catch his bottom lip roughly between your teeth he gasps and arches against you.  _Fuck it_ You think to yourself as his hands slide between the gap in your partially unbuttoned shirt. His fingertips feel dipped in mercury against your skin and when his head drops down and his tongue flicks against your chest your eyes flutter closed and you sigh softly.  

 

This is what he needs from you, reactions, and when his fingers curl into the front of your trousers he watches your face for the next one. James had made a career out of garnering reactions from everyone around him in one way or another. He lives for the riposte and has become a slave to his need to push a boundary and fracture a smile. He collects every breathy sigh and the slightest hints of your approval because he needs them like he needs sustenance. When he drops to his knees in front of you it is this insatiability that rules his actions, nothing more. You may see him as a _free pass fuck_ , but he sees you as something far more rudimentary than that and you don’t entirely mind.

 

James sucks cock just like you imagine he would. His mouth is hewn from deviance and conceit and he wields them both like a master. You find yourself transfixed on the scene playing out before you and you stare down in fascination as your cock disappears into his mouth over and over again. He looks just like those beautiful depictions of the worshippers you’ve seen painted on ceilings and printed in books. You find irony in the idea that you are the complete antithesis of a false idol and now more than ever, you are quite certain of your secured spot in hell.

 

When James pulls off of your cock with a faint ‘pop’ you frown and are left feeling far more bereft than a blowjob should ever be allowed to make you feel. He stands up and kisses you right on the mouth and the taste of your brackish essence on the insides of his cheeks is enough to make your pulse nearly jump out of your own veins. Your fingers are working the button fly of his jeans of their own accord, tugging the snug fabric over hips and pushing them down just enough that they are not cumbersome. “Fuck me,” He whispers against your jacketed shoulder and the sound of his voice is so child-like and needy that it borders on obscene and roils your blood. It is this request, spilled past his swollen lips like a prayer that has you bending him over a sink. He stares at your reflection in the mirror and his face is so pretty and righteous that you have difficulty locating the patience required to make this a pleasurable experience for you both.

 

There is nothing you would like more than to fill him entirely and watch him split in two, you _ache_ with a need that you did not know you possessed inside and it feels like sin on your tongue. It takes surprisingly little time before he is fucking himself on two of your digits and when you take them away he keens in disapproval and the rush of power you feel in your veins makes you smile.

 

You are so lost in sensation, action, and half-formed thoughts about sex and religion that you don’t hear the soft ‘click’ of the door lock, as it is magically unlocked. You don’t even open your eyes or register a presence as someone steps inside the bathroom and locks the door behind them.  

 

Theodore’s pulse thuds loudly in his ears as he side steps out of view and presses himself into a corner that is not nearly as shadowy as he would like it to be. His eyes are blown out to darkened azure shards of delight as he watches you with James. He marvels at your prowess and wonders if he looks like James does when you fuck. His wand clatters to the floor as he slides a hand into the front of his pants, which proves somewhat difficult because he is already perspiring from the pent up anticipation. When he wraps his fingers around his own cock he whispers a little prayer under his breath because you are his religion. He watches as you take James through the seven stages of sin, one penetrating thrust after another, matching the snap of your hips with firm tugs inside his jeans.  Theodore wants to watch you fuck James into submission and then come with your name lodged in his throat like an _Ave Maria._ He wants to pay witness to the precise moment when James realizes what Theodore has known his entire life because he doesn’t recognize the sensation when he looks in the mirror and stares at his own reflection. He used to think this was a sickness that he could never outrun, no matter the distance he traveled, but that time has long passed. Theodore embraces his lust for the agony of life itself and his insatiable need for the bonds of total worship. He knows that no one alive would understand these words if he spoke them aloud and so he whispers them instead and each syllable is like the rapturous word of God and the Devil himself on his bruised lips.

 

James is anything but a spectator in this moment and you find yourself gorging on his actions until you are fit to burst. He forces his arse against you with each thrust, meeting you with a defiant will that you can appreciate.  His breathy whimpers have doubled in volume and you vaguely lament that you hadn’t the sensibility to cast a silencing charm as well. You stare at his reflection in the mirror in front of you as you fuck him firmly into the basin and the irony of an act of filth on such an instrument is not lost on you.  You can already feel this moment crashing towards an explosive finish and it is this perception of impending reality that makes you aware of Theodore’s presence.

 

You can’t see him from where you stand but you know he is there, watching you like the deviant man that you have sworn your blood and life too. You bite down on your bottom lip to stifle a throaty groan in response to the mere idea of being watched and you decide to make this less like a poorly executed fuck and more like a show.

 

Your fingers curl around James’ forearms, which are braced against the rim of the sink for leverage. You are met with minimal resistance as you remove them and guide his arms up and around your neck behind him. His body looks like a shining and delicate instrument stretched across your own and you guide him into your lap in a series of penetrating bursts.

 

James groans his approval and drops his head back against your shoulder in total submission because he has finally admitted defeat. He came into this bathroom with a need and a desire and he will leave it with a burn he will not soon forget. James has given up attempting to glean reactions from you because he can no longer decipher where you end and where he begins. You thrust inside of him so deeply that he sees stars and he knows that it’s never been like _this_ before. His mouth slackens into a perfect circle and he recites the only prayer he knows because you have effectively soiled him from the inside out.

 

Theodore bites his lip so hard he draws blood and the metallic taste on his tongue pulls a string of gritty moans out of him that threaten to never cease. He witnesses James’ submission the moment is happens and it is exactly the push he needs to send him into oblivion. Whispered words of nonsense that read like prayer form on his bloody lips as he comes in his hand inside his jeans and he doesn’t even care if he is found out anymore because this feels just like rapture.  James sings your praises in the form of slack-mouthed pleas of need and it is like the best music that Theodore has ever heard in his entire fucking life.

 

When you come you bury yourself so far inside of James that you are sure you will remain long after you’d gone. You cannot help but wonder if there will always be a part of you inside of him now and the idea curls your lips into a grin that looks somewhat maniacal in the mirror. You have no proper explanation for what has just happened beyond your selfish and fucked up need to devour. When you part with James it feels like the end of a book and he looks up at you and touches your cheek with a newfound adoration that you enjoy more than you openly admit.

 

It doesn’t take him very long at all to collect his senses and depart and when you are left alone in the bathroom you stand at the basin with your dick out and grin at your own reflection. “I know you’re here, you pervert.” Your voice reverberates off the barren walls of the miniscule bathroom and you chuckle as silence meets you.  “Enjoy the show?” You add with a tilt of your head as you return your trousers to their rightful place.

 

Theodore is still on his knees when you find him crouched in the corner looking sated and stolen.  He looks up at you with a mixture of awe and desire and when he curls his hands into the front of your jacket to help himself up off the ground you don’t bat a fucking eyelash.

 

“Let’s go home,” You say as you curl an arm around his middle and prepare to apparate right out of the bathroom.

 

“Yes, “ He says and then he lays his head against your chest and closes his eyes.

 

What you don’t know is that Theodore is not so much overwhelmed as he is overtaken. He can’t wait to get you home so he can lead you into the bath and wash away your sins in the crystalline waters of vice and lack of virtue. He is the Author of Eternal Salvation and you are the disciple.

 

For today.

 

 

 


End file.
